


thirteen ten

by heartsfilthylesson



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 11:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5003191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsfilthylesson/pseuds/heartsfilthylesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five birthdays with Scully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thirteen ten

**Author's Note:**

> i first posted this on tumblr. happy belated birthday, mulder!

1994 –

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday.” She holds up a postcard with a manipulated image of The Queen on one side and a hasty  _congratulations_  scribbled on the other. There’s no return address.

Mulder shrugs. Scully only considers hiding her eyeroll for a second. “Mulder?”

“It didn’t come up,” he says, shuffling some papers on his desk, the very same pile atop which she’d found the card. “Besides, I’m not big on birthdays.”

“Good. Neither am I,” she says with a shrug. But it’s a lie: birthdays have always been important to her. Growing up with three siblings, it’s always been the only day of the year (mostly) devoted to her.

Later, she whistles  _happy birthday_  as they walk to the corner deli and buys him a slice of carrot cake.

1997 –

Their flight back to D.C is cancelled due to bad weather and they’re forced to spend another night in some tiny Nevada town. To the place’s credit, at least their motel is much better than what she’s become accustomed to.

Mulder throws himself face down on the bed the moment they walk into his room. He turns over after a moment, stuffing a pillow behind his head. “Wanna get a pizza?”

“Mushrooms,” she says and sits on a dusty velour armchair. “And peppers.”

“Okay.” He reaches for the phone book on the bedside table and thumbs through the pages. “And bacon.”

Scully makes a face as she takes off her shoes. “Fine,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But only because it’s already your birthday in D.C.”

Mulder sits up, a slightly confused look on his face. She wonders if he will ever get used to someone remembering his birthday, to someone celebrating his life (even when he wishes she wouldn’t.) She shakes her head, sending those thoughts away and smiles.

“What?” She tilts her head, right eyebrow raised. “Did you think I’d forget?”

2003 –

“Mulder?” She rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands and yawns. “Why are you up so early?”

He sits on the edge of the bed. He’s still wet from his shower and water splashes her face when he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep I guess.”

“It’s only five am,” she tells him, reaching for his hand. “Come back to bed.”

Scully doesn’t mind that he’s getting everything wet because when he drapes his arm about her waist and buries his nose in her hair and kisses the back of her neck, it’s almost like they’re not on the run anymore, like they’re finally home.

“Mulder?” She turns to face him and draws him close for a hug. “Happy birthday.”

2011–

“Scully?” Mulder walks into the kitchen barefoot and shirtless, looking both sleepy and confused. “I thought you had to go to the hospital.”

“I did,” she tells him and motions for him to sit down at the kitchen table. There are several kinds of pancakes and waffles, chocolate and caramel and strawberries and the French press they rarely use. “I switched with Dr. Cortes.”

“Interesting.” He makes to grab one of the waffles but she slaps his shoulder before he gets a chance. “You never change shifts.”

Scully places a pint of Cherry Garcia in front of him. “You only turn fifty once so I might as well skip work and feed you terrible things.”

“My kind of woman,” he says and pulls her into his lap. He places his hands on her hips, presses his lips to the hollow of her throat.

“Mulder.” She wants to tell him that they can do this later, that breakfast will get cold and the ice cream will melt and that she’s been up since four am and the kitchen is a mess but he slips his hands beneath her thin cotton tee and none of it matters anymore.

He kisses her temple, her cheek, her neck. “You were saying?”

“Nothing,” Scully says, reaching for the drawstring of his trousers. “Happy birthday.”

2015 –

_This is a bad idea,_ she thinks, but dials his number anyway. Mulder picks up on the second ring.

“Scully.” He sounds slightly out of breath and she wishes she had talked herself out of calling him. “Hey.”

“I know it’s late. I just…” she swallows hard and stares out the window of her apartment. It’s eleven thirty on a Tuesday and the streets are bright but empty. All Mulder can see outside his window is the vast darkness of the woods.“I just wanted to say happy birthday.”

A long, silent moment passes. It hurts how uncomfortable it is, how much everything has changed.

“I thought you forgot,” he tells her at last, his voice tired and flat.

A sliver of sadness cuts through her but she pushes it away and cauterises the wound. She doesn’t have the right to grieve for them, not anymore. Scully thinks she might cry; instead, she sighs. 

“Could I ever?


End file.
